


world war three

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:41:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a very short dribble drabble about how dirk strider sees his class peer jake english</p>
            </blockquote>





	world war three

**Author's Note:**

> you can probably already tell, but this is extremely short and was written in roughly twenty minutes, give or take  
> it's actually my first homestuck fanfiction ever, and the first drabble i've bothered to finish in years, so i hope you enjoy!!! 
> 
> feedback would be very much appreciated

* * *

 

You’re first approached by him when you’re 16 years old and taking your first hesitant steps into late puberty, and the gleam of his hollywood teeth might as well start World War III with the devastation it causes. He’s in three of your school periods, enough time to secretly admire him, and more than enough time to fall for him. His skin is a sun-kissed coppery peach that leaves you fumbling for his race, and his hair is a short tufted black gorgeous mess that screams of glowing curtains and unruly bedsheets. The colors that dapple his skin gold and coffee and cream are vibrant enough for you to appreciate even through your tinted dumb pointy anime shades.

He’s dressed normally waist up, seemingly comfortable in a green plaid button up and grey graphic tshirt. His khakis, on the other hand, are rolled up far past acceptable and way into danger zone and showcase his knobbly knees and coffee calves a little too well, but somehow it matches him and his easy loping gait; stupidly tiny shorts and all.

He wears his smile like it’s his favorite accessory; a little too wide for his square face, with colored lips and beach freckled cheeks but an undeniable warmth in the expression that leaves your toes curling pleasantly in your abused sneakers. His summer greens meet your own winter orange eyes and then he’s clasping his scratchy hand in yours, bitten moon nails scraping at your own smooth palms as he shakes once twice thrice. Puberty might have knocked you down a few levels into a world of warm self-consciousness and bubbly acne, but it most definitely passed like a charm for one Jake English.

You find yourself mentally cursing him even as he opens his mouth to flash his atomic bomb teeth at you again.

“Dirk Strider, wasn’t it?”

You gulp as your clasped hands break apart and bare your own teeth-rickety white fence crooked even with neon orange braces-in what you hope comes off as a chill smirk.

“Yeah. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, English.”

 

* * *

 


End file.
